


Salty Sweet Sour

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Category: Leverage
Genre: Ace Parker, Asexual Character, Asexual Parker (Leverage), F/M, Food Metaphors, Gift Fic, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: Blending distinct flavour combinations can create an entirely new profile on the tongue.Asexual Parker tries to figure out where she fits in this sandwich.





	Salty Sweet Sour

**Author's Note:**

> A fic for a very dear friend. My first piece in the Leverage fandom. This is also unbeta'd, because my betas weren't available and I just wanted to get this up so I could move onto my next request.

“Just because they taste good on their own, doesn’t mean they’ll work together.” 

The tone in Eliot’s voice, that exasperated and unspoken  _ dammit Hardison! _ , told Parker that this argument had been going on for a while now. She was about to take a step back out of the room, but was caught. 

“Parker, come and taste this.” Eliot beckoned and held out a spoon. 

“I’m not really qualified to-” her protest was cut off by a mouthful of soup broth. “Oh god, what is that? It tastes angry!” She scrubbed at her tongue with a napkin.

“It’s Hardison’s newest concoction for the menu. A fish broth with orange zest and dill.” The disgust was almost palpable. 

“C’mon, what about that bagel sandwich you made me last week? It was great, and you said it was fish and dill!” Hardison pulled the bowl closer, almost as if trying to protect it from the complaints. He took a sip of the broth. For close to a full five seconds, several different expressions flitted over his features before he managed to swallow. “M _ m _ m,” he insisted before coughing into his fist, his eyes watering. 

Eliot waited for the fit to pass. “Yeah, dill and salmon are great. But that’s a red fish, and it didn’t have an orange grated over the top. It was delicious and a classic. Not… This.” 

The argument continued in a circle even after they had gone back into the kitchen, Hardison trying and failing to explain his recipe, while Eliot scrubbed angrily at the pile of dishes in the sink. Parker contented herself with a bowl of cereal while perched on the counter to watch the other two resort to name calling. 

“Right, Parker?” they both eventually demanded in unison.

“Um. Milk goes well with Apple Jacks,” she replied after finishing slurping up what was left in her bowl. “Let’s go look at our client list.” 

  
  


Three days later, and Hardison was sitting on the floor while Eliot stitched a gash on the side of his head. Parker was curled up next to him, her head on his lap and a pillow hugged to her chest with her face screwed up in irritation. They were all worse for wear, but Hardison had taken the sharp end of a stick to his head before Eliot could reach him. 

The men were quiet, speaking in hushed whispers so they didn’t wake Parker. When Hardison shifted to get his feet out from under his ass, she had whined and clutched at his leg to keep him from moving away from her. 

“I should put her to bed,” Eliot said. He pulled the sterile gloves off his hands and moved Hardison’s head from side to side and back and forth to make sure the stitches held. “Go find her bunny, I’ll turn down the covers.” 

After the team had become just the three of them, their dynamic had quickly shifted. Not smoothly, but quickly. It felt more natural to stay together as a unit than each going their separate ways after a job. Staying together had led to dates had led to kisses had led to confessions had led to chaotic domesticity. 

The bed they shared was firm and comfortable, piled high with pillows and blankets. Parker was tucked in the middle, because she was always the coldest during the night. Hardison was closest to the wall, because it gave him a chance to charge his phone and computer while they slept. Between them and the door, Eliot slept to keep them guarded and safe in the dark. 

It was the easiest for Eliot, who had never had anything close to a conventional relationship since he joined the service. For him, it became an extension of his duties. After making sure his partners were safe and had most of their blood still on the inside, it was only logical to hold each of them through the night. 

Hardison’s identity crisis had lasted approximately twelve minutes and was only fuelled by the memory of high school athletes taunting him and how much Eliot looked like one of those football all-stars who thought he looked best with his face shoved in a toilet. But they were his people. Eliot was just as much a part of his life and future as Parker was. 

None of it was easy for Parker, though. She didn’t feel like she could give either of them what they wanted from a relationship. Eliot had an active and excited interest in sex. Even Hardison, who had grudgingly admitted that his only experience with sex had been an incredibly awkward night with a girl when he was nineteen, would start to expect it from her, she was sure. And she just didn’t know how much longer she would be able to avoid the subject. To the point that she pretended to sleep after a job so they wouldn’t press her. 

This, Parker could handle. Having the men close, touching her even, it felt good. No one’s hands roamed too far south, and kisses were kept to cheeks and temples. Eliot would tuck her in with her bunny before he and Hardison would retreat to the bathroom to argue over who forgot to put the cap on the toothpaste this time. An argument that would lead to playful shoving, more name calling, and then words would stop, and Parker would hear the slap of a hand on the wall, a grunt, a zip, and she would peek out over the edge of the covers to see shadows of bodies moving. 

It was fascinating to watch, but nothing more than that. Like a performance for her to enjoy, she wasn’t interested in getting on stage to join in the production. It made her happy because it was making them happy, but it wasn’t titillating or arousing anymore than having their lips or hands on her body was. 

When the noises from the bathroom finally stopped, Parker shut her eyes again, hiding her face against her pillow while feigning sleep. 

  
  


“Here, Parker, taste this.” 

“I’m really not the one to be asking about food, Eliot.” Despite the protest, she still opened her mouth for the morsel. Complex layers of flavours spread out over her tongue. It wasn’t one thing she was tasting, but several and she couldn’t pick out where one started and the other began. “That’s delicious,” she eventually moaned out. 

“It’s part of Hardison’s flavour profile lessons. I’ll teach the two of you how to cook something other than toast and cereal yet. I swear, without me, you’d both die of malnutrition if food poisoning didn’t get you first.” Draping a tea towel over his shoulder, Eliot gestured to the spread of ingredients on the commercial countertop. 

The brew pub was closed for the day, giving the wait staff a well earned shift off and ensuring no one would be around to interrupt Eliot’s experiments. Parker was now wishing she had tried to get out for the day as well, instead of being handed an apron and a chef’s knife. 

“I know flavour!” protested Hardison, who waved his knife around for a moment before Eliot snatched it from his hand. “The chocolate beer I mixed was genius.” 

“It was Guinness,” Eliot corrected and rolled his eyes. “It was good, but it’s definitely been done before.” He turned his attention back to the counter and began spreading out and pairing different ingredients. Wedges of mango on skewers wrapped in salty prosciutto, crisp apples on pastry with sharp cheddar, a cocoa and coffee crusted slice of beef, it all looked and smelled delicious and utterly baffling. 

For Parker, food was just a way to keep her body in working order. A chore, more than anything. Hardison loved a good meal, but it wasn’t the passion it was for Eliot. 

Eliot, he could speak with food. Let his ingredients tell a story or share his feelings. He put what he would normally fumble over into a bowl of soup, a dish of pasta, a simple dessert. His affection was expressed with chocolate, concern with broth, annoyance with a plate of dry toast  and smooth peanut butter. After a hard job, he plied his team with greasy stone baked pizza topped with cheese that stretched with each bite. Mornings after a restless night, he greeted them with fresh biscuits and steaming gravy and a pot of coffee made from beans he had roasted himself. He secreted energy boosting muffins into the pockets of Hardison’s jackets, and blends of trail mix into Parker’s jump kits. He’d be damned if either of these idiots would starve on his watch. 

“The profiles of the tastes have to work together, or you’re just putting tastes together for the sake of being edgy. Like those Bougie pop-ups in New York who charge three hundred dollars for a gummy bear covered in gold leaf and soaked in champagne. Who the hell really wants a pizza with truffle oil, caviar, and macaroni on it?” 

“He’s been glaring at Instagram, again,” Hardison translated to Parker over Eliot’s head. 

“I have not! I’ve just been- You don’t-  _ Dammit _ ! You don’t put truffle oil on anything! It’s like taking everything good about food, and straining it through a shoe, then having the nerve to charge actual money for it.” Eliot stabbed his knife into the cutting board where it wavered from side to side for a moment. “You just don’t do it!” 

Hardison crooned and stroked Eliot’s arm until he stopped fuming. “No truffle oil. Got it.” He and Parker shared a grin behind Eliot’s back. 

“You went and got me distracted. Where was-” 

“Profiles,” Parker said, picking up one of the pieces of mango. She sniffed it suspiciously before pressing the tip of her tongue to it then biting down. Humming happily, she held out the skewer for Hardison to finish it.

“Yeah, yeah. Flavours. Profiles. What does any of that even mean? Damn, this is good.” 

“ _ That’s _ what it means. That it makes the food good. Better. More complex. Look, if you want to have a steak with just salt and pepper on it, that’s fine. Nothing wrong with it. But if you want to take it to the next level, that’s when you start pairing it with other stuff. A compound butter, rosemary sprigs to brush it with, and garlic cloves simmering away with it. That elevates the dish.” 

“I still think I’ll stick with my Apple Jacks and milk.”

“You can’t live on cereal alone, Parker.” 

  
  


Soft, panting moans from the shower. The sound of water sloshing against the walls and droplets falling on skin before sluicing down the drain. Two deep voices groaning and murmuring together, trying to stay hushed but not able to keep a grip on it. A bitten off cry, then happy, teasing laughter. 

There was a time that noises like this would have disgusted Parker. She would have held her hands to her ears, pressing so tightly that all she could hear was the dull roar of her heartbeat. Now it was no more disturbing than listening to them arguing over what to watch before bed, or seeing them arm wrestle over the dishes.  

“Budge up, you.” Stepping out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, Eliot flicked his fingers at Parker, brandishing a hairbrush in his free hand. Hardison crawled over the blankets so he could plug in his phone and play a few levels of Tetris. 

Parker sat between Eliot’s knees and let him brush her hair. He braided then pinned it into a crown around her head. His skin was cool from the shower, but still flushed from his exertions with Hardison. His hands were gentle against her scalp, but firm with the knots of muscle on the back of her neck. Under the covers, Hardison moved his leg up and down to caress against her knee. He reached over with his free hand and lightly held her wrist as he hummed a lullaby tune to them all. 

Maybe this really was enough for them. Quiet intimacy shared without expectations for more. Parker didn’t feel left out, or neglected while they spent their time alone. But this, including her in the soft afterglow, might possibly be enough for them all. She wasn’t ignoring them, or turning them down. Her boys had their fun together and she got to be the centre of their attention after. 

It worked. They worked. They were enough for each other. 

  
  


“Try this, my newest recipe.” Hardison slid a plate across the table to Eliot. “Peanut butter and banana pancakes with bacon crumbled in.” 

“ _ Perfect, _ ” 

  
  
  



End file.
